Himself: Slept in till eight. All the usual for a Saturday plus a shower, dinner with the feasters, and the Olympics.
Herself: Late getting up, busy morning, quiet afternoon with laundry, over dinner learned that one of the Feasters has bladder cancer, and moved on to a book and the Olympics.
Reading: “Anna and her Daughters,” a just post-war Cinderella story by DE Stevenson.
Balance: Rinsing that bad sinus does pay off.
I love winter beaches. Though I confess that the bay side of the point is a much busier and entertaining place, the theater offered by giant waves crashing against the earth and sand has kept me mesmerized for years.
I used to walk and jog every day down by the pier. Once up was 7/10ths of a mile….once down another 7/10ths…jetty to the rocks downtown. It used to be one mile each way, but when the river channel once again washed through to the sea, my world became fractured into 7/10ths here and there until I got about three miles in a day.
Three miles of familiar faces at low tide. We all judged our walks by the tide tables. Three miles of grey sand, early morning pale green, sea foam, joyous walks by the sea.
Walking by the beach brought me back to humanity during the worst of my mad years. Walking to work during the last five years kept my life in perspective.
With the news of my friend’s bladder cancer yesterday, I’m stirred to walk again even if I’m not supposed to do it. I think of the positive….and it all boils down to my own mortality. My morning hour in the pool isn’t enough. I want to face my own future in the best physical health I can be….not slowed down by bone spurs or cysts. I’ll try shuffling at the start.
There’s no one bayside to know me from the past, to see me pant while I scrape along by the winter bay laughing at myself.